


My Life for Yours

by MarqueeDuCheesepuff



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Cancer, Casual Sex, Chemotherapy, De-aging (sort of), Desperation, Destiel's kid, F/F, F/M, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Mildly Dubious Consent, OFC - Freeform, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Promiscuity, Prostitution, Resurrection, Sad, Stripping, Wincest if you squint, implied smoking, mentions of Destiel, sick!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:23:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarqueeDuCheesepuff/pseuds/MarqueeDuCheesepuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man leaves a tip in the form of $500 in cash and a phone number. She buys herself and Uncle Sam a few groceries that night, and leaves enough left over to pay some of their bills. </p>
            </blockquote>





	My Life for Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so this is basically my attempt at writing feels. Destiel's daughter living with her sick Uncle Sam in the future. Special thanks to my friends Justin and Emily for proofing beforehand. Hope you enjoy~  
> Also, don't forget to check out the comic that this is based off of at spn-infernal-generation.tumblr.com!

Mary Jo always joked about having four fathers to her friends: Dean and Castiel, the gay ones who she hardly knew, Craig, an ex mafia hit man who was killed by his former partner when she was 12, and Uncle Sam, who was there through her whole life and was lucky enough to escape unscathed from that whirlwind of misfortune.

Except when they got the test results back. In hindsight, MJ should have seen it coming; Uncle Sam was a pretty heavy smoker back in his younger years. But it's still a huge shock that rattles her system when the only words on the paper she could see were, "Positive for Lung Cancer." 

Uncle Sam insists he won't leave her, he says this with a smile that gives her faded memories of Dean. MJ doesn't even tell him that everyone leaves her in the end. He knows what she thinks.

Without telling him, she transfers her college fund right into an account that pays for his chemotherapy, going along with the money from her waitressing job and his maintenance work at that hotel up the block. It doesn't take too long for Uncle Sam's sickness to eat through their safety net, though, and he keeps getting worse and worse as the days go by, to the point that he has to quit his job. MJ forgoes food just for him, just so he can keep his dwindling strength up when money is so tight she's searching through every nook and cranny of their apartment for change just to pay for the train fare to work.

When a customer notices her frail figure, the bags under her eyes and her growling stomach, he just smiles and sips his coffee. "You're a pretty little thing," he tells her in a thick Greek accent, "How'd you like to come work for me? I've got a great job for you." MJ doesn't think twice when she says, "Yes." The man leaves a tip in the form of $500 in cash and a phone number. She buys herself and Uncle Sam a few groceries that night, and leaves enough left over to pay some of their bills. 

"You're a natural," Mr. Himeros says as she spins around the pole. She has no name in this place of technicolor lights and booze and iniquity. She's only called Angel, and she smiles as the men scream and holler and whistle, greasy fingers slipping crumpled dollar bills into the strap of her panties. 

MJ leaves the restaurant at five and dances until ten, coming home covered in glitter and the heavy scent of cheap perfume. Uncle Sam hardly ever sees her anymore, and she's grateful for that. She doesn't want him to see her stoop so low. Sometimes, when she's free on the weekends, though, they sit down together, and he cooks five alarm jalapeño soup - "Enough cayenne pepper to burn your lips right off," he says with a grin - and they eat at the table together. When MJ chokes on the red hot broth, he laughs, raspy and weak, but he still laughs. She smiles. 

"I'm so proud of you," Uncle Sam tells her some nights, "You're such an amazing young woman, your fathers would be proud of you." His bearded face scratches her forehead as he kisses her on her hairline. "I love you," he says before he goes to bed. MJ locks herself in the bathroom and tries to wash the shame away with her sobs. 

Angel stays late one night, scrubbing the makeup off her face. Candy, gorgeous Candy with legs for miles, with silky red hair, with a perfect hourglass figure, stays with her. Angel tells her about her fathers, about Uncle Sam, about how she can't be alone in the world. Candy tells her about the absent parents, about the drugs, about the perils of being a single mother. Angel sleeps with Candy that night, in the dirty bathroom. The next day, MJ learns she skipped town with her son. She tries not to feel abandoned.

The doctors say one day that there's nothing to be done, Uncle Sam's cancer is progressing too fast. They give him pills for the pain, more oxygen for his tank, and place him in hospice care. "It's okay," he tells MJ as she cries on his chest, "I'm an old man, I've seen too much. You'll be fine, baby girl, I promise. I love you." Though his tears spill onto her hair.

Mr. Himeros is chatting on his phone while Angel gets ready to dance. He talks about a new experiment, a new investment. She hears that Deoxy Co. can resurrect the dead, can give the dying young and healthy bodies to wake up in. MJ talks to him after work and begs him to call for her. She lets him touch her that night. The CEO of Deoxy Co. calls her at the restaurant the next morning.

MJ stays home from work on Monday. Uncle Sam had a bad coughing fit the previous night, and she's scared, she doesn't want to lose him yet. A man in a suit knocks on their door and comes in with a silver suitcase. "Standard procedure, ma'am," he tells her as he draws blood from Uncle Sam, "We need to see if he's eligible for the process." When he leaves, Uncle Sam wakes up. MJ curls up on his chest and listens to the weak beating of his heart as his frail hand wraps around her shoulder. "I love you," she tells him, and she cries. 

The CEO makes a personal visit to their apartment, MJ wrapping a blanket around her shivering uncle as he knocks. "The science is very experimental," Mr. Tronnidge tells her, "But we can begin the cloning process immediately, when you're ready." MJ nods. She pays no mind to the leers he gives her. She's used to it. A different man in a different suit takes an outfit from Uncle Sam's wardrobe, and then clips some hair from his head. "My condolences," they tell her as they leave. That evening, when he finally wakes up, MJ kisses his cheek and readjusts his mask after giving him his medication. "I'll see you tomorrow," she tells him, and walks into the night, strapping on her wings of sin.

MJ works overtime at the restaurant, and Angel dances until the sun starts rising. She doesn't sleep, she has to take care of Uncle Sam. His breaths are weak into the mask, he can barely swallow the pills anymore, he can barely eat. The old man looks older as his niece desperately prays every night. "Please, just one more day, just until they can finish, I need my Uncle Sammy, please, please."

The bills get harder and harder to pay, Uncle Sam looking closer to death with every passing second. Angel stays in the alleyway until MJ has to go to the restaurant. She lets the johns touch her, lets them slide inside her. She gets so good at faking, just for another dollar, her hands curling on the damp brick walls, the bad wallpaper of a cheap motel room, the leather of a car seat. Sometimes she comes home with bloody noses and bruised limbs, and she tells Uncle Sam it was an accident. "I just fell down the stairs again, I promise, my foot got caught in the cement, I smacked myself with a tray, I'm okay." She can tell he knows that she's lying, but he lets it go. "Okay." He can barely speak. MJ cries every night. None of her daddies could be proud of her.

Uncle Sam dies on a Tuesday morning. His heart stops on MJ's ear. Mr. Tronnidge gave her a card with an address, and with hysterical sobs, she carries her uncle's body to that old black car that's even older than him. It's covered in dust, they couldn't afford to drive it, the old coot too stubborn to sell it. Uncle Sam looks like he's sleeping in the seat. 

She pulls up to a pristine white building. People in lab coats and suits take Uncle Sam, try to calm MJ down as she screams and wails and collapses on the ground. "They'll bring him back," Ms. Audibert promises as she hands her a cup of water, "The trials were very successful." MJ stares into space and drops the styrofoam cup onto the clean white tile. 

They send her home, and she goes back to her jobs. MJ works the diner. Angel dances and gives company to lonely men. Deoxy Co. doesn't call her, she gets an answering machine when she tries to. She tries not to cry when the men demand she pull that bikini bottom off. 

But when she gets home at four in the morning, Ms. Audibert calls her. "Ms. Winchester, your uncle has passed all of his tests," she tells her with that French twang smoothing along her voice, "His body is functioning normally, and his brain is in perfect condition. You may see him if you wish." MJ can't get out the door fast enough.

Uncle Sam sits up in the cot, dressed in his old and wrinkled clothes. His long gray hair is brown, his wrinkles almost gone. His smile is all dimples. He looks like how he was in those old pictures, where he's got Dean and Castiel on either side of him. He's...young. But he's better, the cancer showing no traces in this new body. And MJ doesn't care. "Hey, baby girl," Uncle Sam says, and she flings herself into his arms. His strong limbs curl around her shaking body, palms running through her hair. "I missed you, I missed you, I was so scared," MJ cries, and Uncle Sam kisses her temple, "It's okay, I won't leave you again, I promise." 

She clings to him the entire ride home, her hands curling around his forearm as they trudge up the stairs to their apartment. MJ sleeps in Uncle Sam's bed that night. 

A week passes. They spend as much time together as they could; she doesn't care that people mistake Uncle Sam for her brother, her boyfriend, now. MJ holds his hand in public, just like she was a little girl again. His huge thumb brushes along her knuckles. He smiles again at her. For now, she can forget about Angel, the cancer, and she smiles right back at him.

Mr. Tronnidge calls her as she slurps down a bowl of that five alarm soup. "Ten million," he tells MJ after she steps outside, "We can discuss a payment plan." Her heart beats low in her chest, and she wishes this were a nightmare, a penniless nightmare. 

The john has a mean right hook, knocking her jaw out of place when she doesn't suck him right. Angel just sobs as dollar bills rain down on her. "Bitch." It hurts, she's hurting. "I'm sorry." She screams when his foot kicks into her stomach. There's not much light, and she's tired now. But she needs to keep working, needs to pay so she can keep Uncle Sam for a little while longer. A giant comes, throws the john into a dumpster. "Help me." MJ shivers as she holds her jaw. She falls asleep in the giant's too-warm arms. "Oh, baby girl, why do you do this to yourself?" Uncle Sam's voice asks.

She wakes in a hospital bed, her lip busted, her stomach bruised. Mr. Tronnidge sits by her bed with a small smile. "You don't have to pay with money, you don't have to sell yourself," he tells her, low enough so her sleeping uncle wont hear, "You can come work for me, be at my disposal." His hands move along her weak arm. His eyes trail the expanse of her pale skin. "Your debt will be forgotten, and he gets to keep that new body." MJ doesn't think twice when she says, "Yes."


End file.
